


Fucked Up

by FancyLadySnackCakes



Series: LowRes [14]
Category: Watch Dogs (Video Games)
Genre: Aftercare, Angst, DedSec fucks some gang members up!, F/M, Fluff, Hospitalization, Minor Character Death, Multiple Pov, Painkillers, Wrench Being an Asshole, also wrench being a vulnerable sweet heart, canonical violence, curbstomping, fluffers, physical violence, revenge spree
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-03
Updated: 2018-02-03
Packaged: 2019-03-12 21:27:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13555908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FancyLadySnackCakes/pseuds/FancyLadySnackCakes
Summary: Anonymous asked: Any thoughts on writing a tlc fic with wrench and low res? She gets hurt on a missionand he looks after her? Or his version of tlc is getting some violent revenge on the people who hurt her. I just want to know what your thoughts are on a fluffy tender wrench!A/N: I feel like I've gotten a similar request before but for this one I really wanted to write something so I did! XD I hope you like it, Anon. It turned into a bigger fuckwad than I could have anticipated. Also, wrote a Josh POV for the first time. Fingers crossed it works! Enjoy!





	Fucked Up

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Anonymous](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anonymous/gifts).



**Outside Ten Donuts on one sunny, dandy afternoon…**

 

It’s a Sunday. The weather is mild despite the time of year and low hazard for anything above the usual, which means everyone woke up a few hours ago, and it’s time for another caffeine boost despite the clock reading half past noon. This time you elect to make a coffee run rather than drink whatever sludge Wrench suggested making in his stained coffee machine. You’re pretty sure it’s some sort of plastisol tar mixture with coffee grinds and not actual fair trade like he claims… and it smelt like authentic dinosaur shit. So, it’s probably part gasoline too.

 

Expensive hipster coffee sounded preferable. 

 

As the sun melts away the cool breeze, you kick your feet up on Sitara’s Schwinn bicycle - which is sorta yours now - and wave Horatio over as he exits the coffee shop. 

 

“Hey! - over here,” you wave your hand to the empty chair across from you and smile knowingly at the subtle, but totally there, glow on his mocha-colored features.

 

The little doorbells tinkle and a car horn goes off down the street. 

 

Casanova himself grins triumphantly and ruffles your loose hair like Wrench did that morning, except the spiked cracker also got in a couple boob squeezes as well before fleeing into the bathroom before you could butt punch him. Horatio probably does the hair thing just to see your face scrunch up, but it’s endearing and sometimes, only sometimes, do you enjoy being the short one of the group; getting lovingly pushed around like a kid even though you're not much younger than Wrench, or Sitara for that matter. In fact, you were pretty sure Horatio was the same age as you, if not only by a couple of months and yet you can’t blink away the older brother blinders.

 

As Horatio plunks down across from you with a dreamy sigh, you send out a quick response to Wrench’s text and insert your phone into your back pocket. One of these days you’ll convince him that not all dogs are game on world domination, but for now, you’ll keep sending him those adorable puppy meme’s until he explodes from the cuteness. Your phone buzzes against your butt with his immediate counter reply, probably something about how he’ll strap it to a rocket and send it to the moon if you bring one into the mix. There’s no way he’s gonna let you adopt a puppy, but it’s fun to terrify him all the same. 

 

Horatio sets your cake donut down on the little outdoor table and utters another lovesick sigh, utterly unaware of the war taking place in your pocket. 

 

“Got you the last one right there,” he tells you and then adds with a wink, “By the way, anyone ever tell you you’re like the Luck Dragon.”

 

“No, why?”

 

“Because! - last donut for you and,” he tugs a legit phone number-etched napkin out of his hoodie pocket and smiles until his cheeks dimple, “I got the new baristas’ number.”

 

Astonished, but happy, you whistle; half earnest and half mocking until his elbow ‘accidently’ rattles the table, jostling your own. 

 

“Hey,” you grin, feeling way too much like you’re channeling Wrench after the craziness the both of you got up to yesterday at around nine-pm, “That was totally genuine - to an extent.” 

 

You prove your point by fist bumping him across the table. The gusto Horatio puts into the return knuckle bash reminds you how sore your limbs are from last night. The road rash on your palms will be there for weeks… plus, your ass is a bit tender too. The phone in your back pocket vibrates again as if summoned via anal PTSD and a flash of Wrench snapping on a condom with an electric growl makes you only slightly uncomfortable to be thinking about him like that within direct line of Horatio.

 

“The Wrench is rubbing off on you.”

 

A bit of donut gets stuck in your windpipe, and you choke for a second too long. 

 

“You,” a cough and more than a little blush, “you have no idea…”

 

He raises a dashing eyebrow but says not a fucking word.

 

In all seriousness, it’s about damn fucking time Horatio got somewhere in the lady department. Right now, he looks like an all-star after a victory win, as he rightfully should. Sure, he was the resident Casanova, but Horatio could be way too shy for his own good most times. 

 

Only after he’s kicked his sneakers up on the patio chair and cracks open a can of soda do you start breaking your donut into tiny bite-sized pieces. Maybe if you eat like a squirrel, you won’t choke again. It’s hard to suppress your smiles when Horatio can’t stop blushing, but for some reason, today feels like it’s gonna be a great day. 

 

The air smells like autumn - like the terrible pumpkin spice lattes being served inside and of homemade fires in the apartments above the shops. Even the leaves are floating down in the breeze. The world looks and feels picturesque. Plus, it’s not often you get to hang out with Horatio, and you miss it. 

 

Back in the early days before your initiation, he and Sitara were kinda like your hacker mentors. 

 

Hell, if it wasn’t for Horatio digging up hacks from your old handle back in high school, he may not have agreed with Sitara that you were worthy of the DedSec badge. You owed him a lot for what you had now… and while you didn’t know how to thank him properly, just hanging out with him was a rare joy and maybe you could throw him a bone or two later if things went well with the barista. Maybe Mr. Casanova had stipulations against hacking into citizen accounts for the good dirt, but you didn’t, and there was nothing wrong with committing some illegal snooping to get your friend some insider info on a potential girlfriend. 

 

Oh shit. Now that you think about it... fuck… Wrench really was rubbing off on you.

 

As you nibble on your cake donut and relax in the shade, Horatio sips his soda and muses, “You know if it weren’t for Sitara’s ‘Quad Grande, Non-Fat, Extra Hot Caramel Macchiato Upside Down’ we’d be back at the hackerspace by now, watching Flintstone reruns…”

 

“If we returned without that drink, Sitara would kill you. After killing me,” you comment, imagining the hell that’d await you two if the order was wrong, hence why you’ve taken to sipping it off the rim, below the lid, first. Had to make sure for your own safety after all. One day you were gonna die, but it wasn’t gonna be by a purple-haired amazonian with caffeine withdrawals and a painters pole.

 

Down the street, a car alarm goes off, but instead of thinking it’s a warning - because this was Frisco so why would you? - you keep enjoying your donut as Horatio sneaks glances at the cute barista inside while she finishes making your orders. It’s quaint watching him out the corner of your eye, remembering that one-night stand he had a few months back and how disappointed he was that it hadn’t been the beginning of a full-on relationship.

 

It’s only a short thirty seconds later that a dingy gunmetal van, detailed in cliche burning skulls and barbed wire, grinds to a halt in front of your table. The passenger window rolls down just far enough to slip a gun or a wad of cash through, and angry ‘Merican rock'n’roll spills out its innards. 

 

“-the fuck.” Horatio breathes beside you. 

 

Immediately your heart sinks into your stomach. It’s not often you get that visceral gut sensation of danger but the bald-headed silhouetted in the tinted window turns and the passenger side door kicks open with a squeal of rust. 

 

On nothing but pure instinct, you kick the Schwinn bicycle into the knees of an approaching Sons gang member who’s got a skull tattoo on his fucking skull and a beard down to his gut, wearing a look like you’d personally pissed in his beer. 

 

He stumbles; eyes bulging as he bangs back against the side of the car, nearly rolling off it to the ground as the other side door is jerked open, revealing another leather jacket asshole with a crowbar in his fist. 

 

You’d be impressed with yourself if you weren’t in flight mode, trying to crawl over the table to get at Horatio who's already reaching to pull you away from the nearest thug but three more of them flood out the van, swarming like rats. Their hands pull at your thighs, and while you get one in the jaw with your left converse - a kick that makes blood pour out of the dude's mouth - it’s a short biker chick with scars on her cheek that cold cocks you twice in the face. After a third punch, you can’t tell the difference between down and up anymore; going limp in their hands.

 

The world spins like a camera plummeting from a plane to earth, making your body feel suspended as you’re traded between gang members and thrust inside a shady van that reeks of gasoline and body odor. You gag, pain webbing down your face. Someone's elbow bashes into the back of your head and your whole body tenses.  

 

Horatio’s shoulder meets your temple when you're tossed in the backseat, but the open gash he meets feels numb. Something wet flows down the edge of your nose, and as it skims your upper lip, you reach out to lick away a hot trail of coppery blood. 

 

“Fuck,” you gasp, blind in one eye as your brow bleeds freely from those three lovetaps the Ragnarok bride gave you. 

 

You're only half aware of one guy shoving you up in Horatio's lap; trying to wedge the two of you close enough against the back doors so the rest of them can fit back inside. There’s two of them in what looks to be lawn chairs, and someone from the backseat puts a heel in your hip like your a footrest. 

 

Tires squeal, and rubber burns up your bloody nose. All you hear outside your own sluggish pulse is Horatio spitting curses beside you.

 

While your head pounds, you groan and have a single clear thought despite the compacted cotton sensation inside your skull. You’ve been kidnapped… and you’re probably about to die. Best case scenario they hold you for ransom. Worse case, you and Horatio are tortured to death. The realization makes tears leak out of your eyes but nothing else. 

 

You’re scared silent.

 

A sudden, massive weight of fear strangles you as you think about how idyllic life had finally become… how much you were gonna miss everyone, how you never replied to Wrench’s texts about wanting a puppy - about how fucked you were now. There wouldn’t be anymore Wrench after this… and no puppy either...

 

The nasty looking chick with pockmarks and a half-shaved head pushes a sweaty bandana between your teeth, tying it in a knot at the back of your head until the side of your mouth cuts and stings. You’d like to say you were a fighter, but the bitch hit hard, and you could barely think let alone move your limbs correctly and to be completely honest… you’re too scared to fight even if you could. Some of your hair gets caught in the abrasive cotton, and you wince around a swollen eye as some follicles come loose. It’s a great a time as any to cry when Horatio begins trying to make sense of it all - cutting deals - only to get cocked in the nose with the back of a handgun and treated to the same gag as you. After a few haggard breaths, bubbles of what you assume is blood gush out his nose. 

 

Sobbing and dizzy and sore, you kick only once when they pin your ankles together, efficiently binding them and your wrists as the van twists and takes a hard turn. 

 

They pass over a speed bump going at least fifty-five. Your head smacks the metal wall of the van with the upwards momentum and then… darkness…

  
  
  
  
  


**At the HQ, one whole hour later...**

 

Even without the stress, Marcus was starting to sweat from Wrench’s thermonuclear body heat alone.

 

“Look! - I need you to back up. I can’t think with your fucking metal on the back of my head.” 

 

He was about to lose his cool at this point. Wrench was ignoring him, growling with mad-slashes blinking furiously until Marcus elbowed him in the chest and calmly, once again, told him to back the fuck up. A fight was on the literal cusp of breaking out, only for Sitara to swoop in like a fucking referee and haul the ticking time bomb back a few inches. 

 

After everyone was safe and sound, Marcus was gonna buy homegirl all the ginger cookies and lattes she could stomach. The last thing they needed right now was to get all personal and shit when time was of the essence. 

 

Sitara huffed and puffed; fingers white around Wrench’s hoodie sleeve as the anarchist blew his chest out. 

 

“Wrench, we need you to calm down… this,” she paused, “isn’t fucking helping. You know that.”

 

“Yeah-yeah. OK’okay…” For the first time since they started getting worried, Wrench sounded scared instead of angry. The app feed was talking about a kidnapping in the same vicinity LowRes and Horatio were last heard from, and Wrench wasn't taking it well.

 

“You better find her M,” he growled under his breath, sounding like a Terminator with an agenda. The oddly genuine threat would have been enough to light a fire under Marcus’ ass if he hadn’t already lit one himself the second they smelled somethin’ fishy. 

 

“Workin’ on it,” Marcus managed, choosing to reassure and keep hacking than drop the tech and grab a rocket launcher like someone else would default too. They had to figure about where their two friends were before blowing people to goop… even though the thought was tempting. Besides, there wasn't any real proof that what they’re looking at needs to end in murder. No one knows what’s happening, even if everyone’s thinking the same thing. 

 

What good reason could Low and Horatio have for going dark? - Except for the elephant in the room, there wasn’t much else to explain it. They've been kidnapped. It was on everyone's mind but no one's lips.

 

One of them not answering their calls was ‘whatever.’ Hell, even both of them? - No worries, but they were black on the channel feed, and when Wrench couldn’t get contact on LowRes even through the emergency feature, the walking-grenade came to the bitter realization that he couldn’t get ahold of his girlfriend. At first, Marcus might’ve said Wrench was a jealous asshole who'd finally snapped, but after trying a few quick hacks to bring up their position, it landed ‘em all dead in uncoded waters. One by one, everyone came up empty and then everyone went on high alert. 

“Alright,” Sitara half-growled, “so we agree this is some serious shit, which means I’m gonna take Wrench with me and we’ll head to the coffee shop. It’s the last place they were at, and if they have anything to do with the reports, then there should still be people there we can hound.”

 

“Wrench,” she said; throwing her voice across the room. 

 

“On it! You got the keys?!” Wrench asked, already on the other side of the Hackerspace, out of breath and groaning as if he were balancing something half his weight on his shoulder. The soft slide of a dense canvas backpack traded hands, and Marcus glanced over his shoulder while his progress bar started filling up to catch two sets of quick feet on the stairs. The Wrench Bench was missing that homemade rocket launcher, and a dusty ring glared at him where the ‘off-limits’ bag of dynamite had once been.

 

“Fuck,” Marcus cursed, casting a nervous glance at Josh who was hovering in the middle of the room. The infamous Hawt Sauce looked like he didn’t know whether to follow after Sitara and Wrench or freak out. Instead of doing either Josh walked off, immediately coming right back with his laptop and sat down beside him. 

 

Marcus smiled, albeit fucking nervous as hell as Josh started typing; fingers shaky at first but steady after a chug of soda and some muttering self-pep talking. 

 

Josh began asking a series of questions that rattled like unbroken code stream, but somehow Marcus was replying to it without thinking. It felt like they’d all been in this situation a thousand times before, but this shit was different. This was family - this was way more fucking personal than trying to tear down shit or fuck over the mass populace. Things were different when it was the people you loved. LowRes and Horatio were family and no one fucked with family.

 

They both fell into a tandem of snapping keys, each stroke a gunshot in the anxious silence, looking for a way to access their missing friends - their family. Hopefully, whoever was responsible had good fucking health insurance, cause once they found out where they were, Wrench and Sitara were gonna be lighting shit on fire. Scorch of the earth type shit.

  
  


With a ball in his throat, Marcus clicked the trackpad on his laptop a few times, typed in a string of commands on a whim and suddenly got into Horatio’s phone. It’d been turned off, but it was booting back up just as Marcus’ own phone rang. A picture of a hot purple haired girl with her tongue sticking out appeared on the LCD display, and Marcus swiped that shit so fast his thumb joint clicked.

 

“Yo, Sitara,” he answered, receiver wedged between his ear and shoulder while typing through a bunch of DedSec firewalls, “I ammmm in! I'm in. Got Horatio’s phone turned on, just waiting for it to link. Where you guys at?!”

 

“Currently?” She sounded out of breath, “Outrunning the cops because daredevil over here doesn’t know what a red light means!” 

 

Something between a small and medium-sized explosion erupted across the line, followed by Wrench screaming, “Come get me mother fuckers!” Which said all Marcus needed to know about the situation at large.

 

Marcus winced, “Yo, just keep him coherent will ya?”

 

“Easier said than done,” Sitara said through her teeth. There was a pause, a crash, and several car horns before she told Wrench to take a hard right. The sound of tires squealing in a one-eighty just added to all the chaos. Shit was real - real fucked.

 

Sitara inhaled, “I told him to take it earlier, and he just kept speeding down Mission… what’s the status on the phone? Can you hear anything? - Is Josh working on a location?! I need something before we both end up in the Bay.”

 

Before Marcus could answer, a broken sound came out of his speakers - the DedSec channel crackled up with the unmistakable sound of Horatio’s painful breathing. 

 

“Shit…” Marcus swallowed and turned to Josh for some help but Josh was already nose deep in the glowing screen, typing so fast his fingers looked like blurry sausages. 

 

“I’m working on establishing another connection," he said. "I’m changing the audio input to come through the speakers.  It’s going to be… unconventional, but it’ll work.”

 

_ “-think this is funny? I’ll show you what’s fuckin’ funny.” _

 

Sitara was asking a million questions, all at warp speed as Josh stared ahead at his laptop, tapping the volume up and reducing some of the static until they could hear the soft sounds of Low crying in the background while some uneducated gangbanger made threats… or promises...

 

_ “Listen, here ‘brotha.’ We’re gonna take yur little girlfriend here an’ see how she likes the taste’ah motor oil.” Laughter - two voices. “You ever see what happens to little girls when they drink that shit? Fuckin’ warnings all ovah that bottle for’ah reason.’ _

 

Marcus felt his blood run cold. Rising up from his chair Josh walked over and took the limp phone from Marcus hand where it was hovering a solid foot away from his ear.

 

“It’s the Sons of Ragnarok,” Josh deadpanned into the phone, watching the soda and chip-covered desk with blank eyes and something like a light sweat on his upper lip. 

 

Josh leaned over and hit the hotkey on Marcus’ laptop, linking the phone call with the channel feed so the quiet whimpers from LowRes could be heard by an already erratic Wrench. Sitara cursed through the laptop speakers, and the sounds of a deeper, more manic shouting from Wrench muffled everything else. More car horns blared while the sound of Wrench pummeling the steering wheel made Marcus feel sick. 

 

Shit… shit’shit’shit’shit! 

 

Marcus couldn’t find the words to speak, all he could do was listen to the choppy feed as Horatio tried to reason; calm sounding until someone punched LowRes by the sound of it and then all Marcus could hear was a string of hateful curses and the worst noise choke out on Wrench’s end. 

 

Another punch cut off the crying.

 

_ ‘... well what are we gonna do with em now? You hit her too hard, asshole. She’s gettin' blood all over the fuckin’ concrete.’ _

 

“God-fucking-damnitt,” Wrench said; pain in his static-laced voice. “I’m killing all of them. They’re DEAD! Where’s the fucking location?!”

 

“Marcus-” Sitara urged. 

 

Marcus didn’t need to be told, he started in on the backdoor for Galilei, copy-pasting the code pathway into the satellites over California while Josh had the idea to pre-hack into Nudle’s servers once Marcus had an address. He claimed he could get access to the kidnapper's phones and provide a distraction when Wrench and Sitara pulled up to the rescue. All the while, everyone could hear the haunting conversation between Horatio and Low as they came to the realization that they were about to die.

 

_ “This isn’t how it ends. Hey-hey, look at me,” _ Horatio said under his breath.

 

Marcus could hear Wrench grinding his teeth - could hear the dude's heart twisting too.

 

_ “... I don’t wanna die,”  _ was Low’s pained response. She sounded in shock, not scared but not right either - not entirely coherent.

 

“FUCK!” Wrench screamed over the channel, “Where the fuck is she, guys?! Why am I driving blind right now?! Fuck me!”

 

Sitara came in with a steady, if not barely calm, tone of voice, “We’re heading over the Oakland Bay Bridge now. We need to narrow it down. NOW!”

 

Wrench started yelling again as Low began making noises that could have been unintelligible words but were probably just garbled by the messy feed. 

 

Lost in trying to figure out why the code wasn’t working, Marcus half fell out of his skin when Ray suddenly piped up with an apparent hangover, “You know Galilei changes their passwords every Sunday. What the everloving fuck have you two been smoking?”

 

Everything but the crackling channel on Horatio's phone went silent, and Marcus turned around as Ray stuffed a handful Cheetos in his mouth, blinking obliviously. He was standing there wholly chill until Horatio tried to quietly shush Low when she started to cry again. Ray stiffened, and his mouth thinned into a pressing edge - that expression didn't fit the Hawaiian shirt but fuck… Marcus had never been happier to see the ancient hacker.

 

Josh had him the new password in six seconds, and just like that, the coordinates dialed in, and they had an address.

 

“Texting you the deets now,” Marcus said, feeling like a fucking badass and just like that, the hunt for Low and Horatio went full throttle: level eleven, dialed up as hot as the mother-fuckin' sun, baby! 

 

Wrench made the van belch flames that could be heard from halfway across the city while Sitara gave out turn by turn directions. Marcus slapped the laptop closed, gave Josh a quick pat on the back as he started hacking into the cameras around the location, and got him and Ray a couple guns to join the fight. 

 

“Time to save family, man!”

  
  
  
  


**Twenty-four minutes later and two-point-seven Red Bulls down…**

 

Josh surveyed the monitors lined up on his right where the DedSec feed was running a mile and a half a minute, glancing back to his laptop when the hack finally uploaded to the surrounding security cameras at the meeting point. Kidnappers hideout, he thought darkly.

 

He took the last swallow from Marcus’ forgotten Red Bull and gingerly set it on the table. It fell a moment later, but Camera_2 came up with a static intro, making the clatter of metal unimportant as Josh watched the DedSec van speed down the ravine leading up to the Sons of Ragnarok hideout. The van hit a turned over garbage bin, ran up along the side slope before Wrench hit the gas and ran straight into Camera_3. The light was limited at the mouth of the storm system, but Josh had little trouble watching the van barrel through a Sons member, running him over with a silent jump of the tires and then crashed; pinning another man with a shotgun into a support beam. It was weird watching everything without sound, but he figured it wasn't necessary. Josh had access to the whole network and, theoretically, could prevent a surprise attack as long as he kept toggling across the lineup.

 

As the smoke cleared, a third gang member lifted himself out from under the van and tried to crawl their way out of the rubble undetected.

 

Josh clicked over to Sitara's feed and leaned into the speakers, "There's one getting away. Under the tires..."

 

_ "Not for long,”  _ Sitara growled.  _ “Wrench!" _

 

_ "Oh... I'm on it..." _

 

The footage would have to be deleted from the network, either secured on one of their servers or nuked. The body count was going to be too much for the cops to ignore, even if they didn't care about a wiped out Son's hideout. Plus, if they found out DedSec was involved, it'd be more evidence against them when the police were looking to nab them for something else later. Too risky. Would be stupid to leave any trace behind.

 

Josh thought about it for a few moments and decided to keep it once they got LowRes and Horatio out of there. It seemed like something Wrench would want to look over later… especially after Josh watched him hop out the van only to immediately drop kick the armored man trying to drag himself away from the crash. 

 

It was always… unpleasant when things like this happened, but Josh felt nothing when Wrench circled the man, kicked him over on his back and proceeded to stomp his face in until the gang member wasn’t moving anymore. Violence wasn't really up Josh's alley. He liked making a difference behind a computer screen - most of the time he could get more done that way - but certain situations called for violence... this was one of those times.

 

Maybe on paper, the Sons of Ragnarok were just thieves and drug peddlers, but every one of those men and women had blood on their hands. Initiations were messy and mostly involved innocent people getting stabbed to death or ran over. 

 

No, Josh didn’t feel sorry about it… nor did he looked away when Wrench turned on his heel, leaving dark footprints behind as Sitara tossed him the bag of dynamite. They ran out of Camera_3 and straight into the next junction.

 

Josh made a few adjustments to the frame rate, brought the gamma up and sent the cameras to the monitor bank on his right. All twelve separate surveillance feeds snap onto the screens one by one. 

 

Josh turned in his chair, laptop on his thighs and watched them with his shoulders pulled up into his neck; unblinking.

 

Camera_4 and Camera_5 showed footage of the same open room only at different angles. It was filled with shipping containers, saran-wrapped drug units, dotted with sofas and tables angled in organized chaos...

 

Josh swallowed the taste of taurine, sugar, and fake-blueberry as Camera_6 flickered in and out between hard rain and soft rain.

 

Camera_7 showed the mid-action movement of LowRes slamming something that looked like a chair leg over a lithe looking figure. The female gang member went down on her knees, pulling a knife that fell to the floor when Low swung the improvised weapon into her temple, sending her face down on the ground.

 

“Guys… she’s free,” Josh said through the main channel. 

 

Something must have knocked Sitara and Wrench's comm off the network because the only feedback Josh got was from Marcus and Ray on their way to the meeting point. The two of them made the same brain fart of noise, so Josh repeated himself and tapped the plus sign a few times on his keyboard, zooming in on the scene happening on Camera_7. 

 

“She’s untying Horatio now. It looks like she’s favoring her left hand. Be careful, it could be broken."

 

It could be strained too, but the way it was angeled made Josh decide on the later. The cameras weren’t much better than first gen tech bought cheap and the resolution was pretty bad, but it was still crisp enough to see the essential details, so when a shadow of an encroaching Sons coming in from the left showed up, Josh could only hold his breath and hope. 

 

Josh bit his teeth and tensed for a second before hitting one of the listed phone IP’s on his laptop screen. The numbers went red, and he clicked enter on the execute function, hoping he'd done everything fast enough. 

 

LowRes turn around, hearing the phone alarm go off behind her, but she didn't react fast enough... or Josh hadn't acted as quick as he should have. The man coming up behind her grabbed the slack of her jacket and flung her down on the floor.

 

Josh winced, swallowing a reflux of Red Bull and stomach bile as he watched her try to roll out of the way, but she was too slow...

 

In the corner of the screen, Horatio was struggling with the ties securing him to a bench sofa, ripping one loose arm free as Low was covered up by a guy with hands the size of her head. She grappled with his forearms, clawing and dodge a punch to the face which bought herself enough time for Horatio to pick up the chair leg she'd used on the woman and cracked the guy over the head. 

 

Josh exhaled through his mouth, feeling all those Red Bulls trying to come up like battery acid and reached around in his back pocket for the bottle pills Wrench was kind enough to pick up for him that morning. The refill was a few skittles short, but Josh didn’t care right now. He chewed up a whole one, took a deep, calming breath and watched the several cameras shake with a silent explosion.

 

Both LowRes and Horatio froze halfway through picking the guns off the two motionless gang members, turning their head to the lower left of the screen.

 

Over on Camera_5, the dust from one of Wrench's explosives began to settle. Emergency lights were throwing shadows on the drug room, and a few others cameras. A bright gunshot went off close enough to the camera that Josh saw sparks before, what was most probably another stick of dynamite, sailed across the room. Another explosion went off and-

 

Josh looked down at the floor and then over at Camera_6 where the gore wasn’t so prominent. 

 

He wasn’t sure he wanted to throw up Red Bull right now, and explosions left a mess. He had to be on alert in case they gave him the signal to call the cops. No one wanted to make the call, but it was always better to have a backup plan, and Josh was pretty sure he could distract the cops if he needed to once their job was done. Right now, though, everything seemed to be going smoothly.

 

On Camera_7, LowRes and Horatio were checking the magazine on a gun just as their door was kicked open. Out from the lower left came the quick image of a converse sole and billows of smoke. Wrench and Sitara spilled into the room just as the stolen Cadillac with Ray and Marcus was pulling up on Camera_1. 

 

Josh felt his shoulders drop - felt the pill still dissolving around his gums kick in and watched with a thankful smile as Wrench sprinted across the room to LowRes. He yanked her up in a big hug that Josh hoped was hard enough to make up for him not being there. Sitara started checking over Horatio’s face, and Josh eyed the immediate surrounding cameras for any surprises. There was nothing except DedSec… for now.

 

_ “How we lookin’, Josh?” _

 

“No one so far. I’m not seeing any outgoing messages- wait… someone called in backup four minutes ago.”

 

_ “Shit-” _

 

“It’s okay. I’ve got it handled,” Josh replied, double checking his reach on the wireless IPs. Anything coming within a one-thousand foot radius of any one of the twelve cameras wasn’t making it more than a few yards from the ravine.

 

Back on Camera_ 7, Josh watched Wrench drop down in a squat, shouldering LowRes up on his back and one-armed her with mad-slashes. He was still balancing a grenade launcher in his other hand. It didn’t seem very feasible that he’d be able to shoot any projectiles while giving her a piggyback ride… but Josh figured if anyone could pull it off it’d be Wrench. Josh trusted him to take care of her.

 

Horatio was either better off than LowRes or he was standing only because he didn’t have a Wrench to carry him off. There would definitely be a copy of this footage for later. Even if everything else had to be deleted, Josh wanted to keep the proof of their comradery today. It seemed important in case there was ever a future where things didn’t work out as well as they had this time.

 

Even though a Sons of Ragnarok had called in for backup before getting blown up seven minutes ago, or run over or beaten with sticks depending on which one made the call, Josh knew better than most how to handle it. He’d come prepared. 

 

Over across the bank of monitors, Josh tracked every movement; fingers poised over his keyboard. He’d never been more ready in his whole life. Which was good because ten seconds later, a three-car convoy was barreling through the demolished neighborhood, skipping potholes across Camera_12 and Camera_11.

 

Their signals - phones and cars - hit ninety-plus percent on his laptop.

 

“Cornholed,” Josh muttered before channeling the car switches, sending a kill signal to the ignition and watching them stall a over fifty meters from the ravine. Marcus whistled across the channel right after one of their engines blew on the opposite end. Once again, DedSec had the all clear to move out.

 

_ “Josh, did you just-” _

 

“Yes,” Josh grinned, following the rescue team across the camera feeds. They were still in the clear even with the distant indication of officers being dispatched to their location. Josh watched his friends make it out into Camera_4’s view and off down 3, 2 and finally outside under the glow of Camera_1 where Marcus and Ray were waiting in the east exit.

 

_ “Yesss. That’s what I’m takin’ about, dude. Fuckin’ Hawt Sauce, man! HEY! Over here!” _

 

Maybe Josh wasn’t someone that could fire a gun or blow up about four-hundred thousand dollars worth of methamphetamine and a handful of people, but Josh felt giddy as Marcus finger gunned him through the camera while Ray stood with an assault rifle trained at the storm tunnel. The sight of everyone piling into the car and peeling off on a blackened curve of burnt tires, made all the tension leak out his arms. 

 

Josh sank back in his chair, watched the cameras for a few minutes longer and started the process of deleting, re-splicing and saving the footage to their drives. The methodical process was calming and took time, all things that Josh needed as the adrenaline started to stale in his veins.

 

_ “We’re dropping these two off at UCSF Medical Center. Make sure those cameras are nixed, will ya?” _

 

“Already done.” Josh nodded as Marcus kept him patched in on the next set of plans. The cops were already on their way, but by the time they’d get access to the cameras, there’d be no evidence for them to use against DedSec. It was the least Josh could do as he waited on the next update.

 

Everyone was alive, he reminded himself. His best friend was alive, and everyone was going to be okay. He’d helped and now all he could do was wait.

  
  
  


 

**Outside the UCSF Medical Center...**

 

The past six hours - mostly the first hour of those six - had been the worst of Wrench’s life. Period. Full stop. Not even the years of bullshit he suffered as a kid was as horrifying as today had been.

 

For two solid hours, he’d been sure the best thing in his miserable, pointless fucking life was gone - that nothing would taste the same or smell the same... nothing would matter. Somehow he’d hit the girlfriend jackpot, and it occurred to him, like an amp-shock, that Low could be removed from his life in an instant. Just like that. Gone…

 

The idea either hadn’t ever crossed his mind or seemed so batshit impossible, Wrench never worried about it. Somehow he’d survived twenty-plus years alone, but he didn’t think he’d survive another six-months without her.

 

For those one-hundred and twenty-four minutes between realizing she was in trouble to holding her back in his arms, Wrench couldn’t think. He could barely breathe or comprehend the idea that Low could literally, not hypothetically, but literally die. Actually fucking die. 

 

It still sounded unreal - un-fucking stable to consider. Like poorly measured dynamite, nothing felt completely safe yet, and even though Low was held up in one of those bright-windowed rooms, Wrench felt like one wrong move would send him back in time to that moment before he got to her.

 

The roads through Oakland felt like a lactose-induced nightmare. All those vehicles rammed onto the side of the road, all of Sitara’s screaming, it was all one big fucking blur and Wrench still felt high strung and jerky. His ears kept ringing with the stabbing sounds of Low whimpering across the feed as Sitara directed him through the shittiest crack hovels and abandoned meth labs to the haunting sight of that ravine. Only the worst scum operated out of storm systems, and all the shit that crossed his mind was enough to make vomit paint the back of his tongue the whole trek back to her. Wrench had done some questionable things throughout his life, sure. 

 

No way were any of ‘em walking away from that hidey-hole… and none of them did...

 

So, whatever. Maybe tonight wasn't the first time Wrench had murder some shitheads... and maybe some of those times he felt a bit guilty about it... but if someone gave him the chance to kill those scumbags again, he'd make sure to bring the jumper cables and a boombox for the second go around. Torturing those cock stains to some obnoxious Journey would be the icing on the death cake.

 

Wrench kicked the parking lot bumper curb with his toe sole and took a pull off his cigarette, wrinkling his nose under the folds of his mask as the evening visitors started to leak out the main hospital entrance. One by one, car by shitty car, the parking lot slowly grew deserted.

 

‘Jesus Christ, Wrench! Slow the fuck down. We’re not gonna save them if you get us both killed!’ 

 

Sitara’s words were ripe. Right there between his brain lobes; guilt bullets ricocheting endlessly.

 

She’d shouted and screamed, blowing out his eardrums while stating the fucking obvious to a Wrench that wasn’t thinking about anything but a life without reason… about what a group of Sons of Ragnarok could do to a girl like LowRes. 

 

“Goddamnit,” Wrench cursed, tapping his converses impatiently. 

 

How fucking long did it take for people to get their unseasoned asses out and go home?! He had a hospital to break into and a lady to re-woo with love declarations and puppy breath!

 

On cue, his buttoned-up vest wiggled as he bounced on his heels and because he was still in hyped-up asshole mode, Wrench blew the next exhale of smoke down his collar. The puppy sniffled and let loose a messy sneeze up under his chin. Immediately, he felt both grossed out guilty. With one arm, he hugged the weight around his stomach and rubbed out his smoke on the leg of his jeans, muttering obscenities.

 

Low wouldn’t be too happy about cigarette stank on him anyway. Plus, he'd spent too much washing the blood off his clothes already just to turn around and soak 'em in smoke.

 

“Take a right here. NO! Your OTHER right!”

 

Wrench had driven on pure fear and muscle memory alone. It was a miracle that defied the laws of time and space that he wasn’t fused to a car seat right now, having gone out in a blazing ball of gasoline and destruction. 

 

For a second, before spotting that first Sons scumbag and deciding to run him over, Wrench realized he probably needed to start being a bit more careful. If what he felt today was anything close to how Low felt when he did stupid, reckless shit… well, fuck... he needed to dial it back a bit. Just a bit. For her.

 

He could learn to keep it vanilla from time to time if the rewards were high enough.

 

Tiny claws dug into his stomach as he pulled his phone out his back pocket, opening up Josh’s newly installed framework app. The program scanned the UCSF Medical Center network without a single hiccup. Among finding way too many vulnerability exploits - which was explicitly what Josh wanted it to do because he just HAD TO use this for good - it popped Wrench right into the system with little to no trouble. He tapped into the security camera manifest and started cycling through each room.

 

A tiny kick to his gut made him grumble, but he plunked down on the bumper curb and let the dumb thing lay over his thighs. It squirmed, yipped and went back to sleep. Happy nightmares, he thought sourly.

 

A text from Marcus popped up on the bottom of his display as he swiped through the first floor rooms, finding nothing.

 

‘Yo, you good, man?’

 

Wrench sent him a quick thumbs up emoji and started scoping the second-floor patient rooms. Maybe when all this bullshit with the police and hospital red tape was over, Wrench could think up some kind of thank you for Markey Mark. For everyone really. If it'd been just him driving around Frisco in a blind panic, Low wouldn't be here now.

 

Thinking about what-could-have-beens made him want another cigarette like a junkie needed a fix, but he’d already finished off a pack, and he wasn’t gross enough to relight the cherry he’d recently put out.

 

There was a cop stationed on the third floor,  standing with his arms crossed like a real hotshot; gun on his hip and a backward department cap on. 

 

Wrench double tapped the footage, pulling up a list of surrounding cameras and swiped through each one until he paused, heart in his throat, and went back one. He zoomed in and stared at the fuzzy image of Low sitting upright in a hospital bed, changing the channels on a hidden TV set.

 

Her get-well-present pushed its nose out the collar of his vest, licked the underside of his chin and even though it was super gross, Wrench barely moved. 

 

The phone shook inside his hands as he noticed the fresh cast on her left wrist. 

 

They'd put her in one of those backless hospital gowns, hair pulled out of her face in a clip or some shit, exposing a wicked black eye, a gauze patch on her temple and a fat lip. IV tubes anchored her to a saline pouch, and something else that Wrench hoped was a shit load of drugs. More cables ran around her collarbones and out the back of her gown. Heart monitors, he guessed, feeling increasingly empty and sick.

 

She looked way more injured than he’d thought she was. Low had been pretty banged up and bloody when he got to her, but she'd been talking and animated, and wouldn’t stop moving around the whole way to the hospital that Wrench hadn’t thought for a second that anything was actually broken. 

 

Maybe it was one of those things where the adrenaline had masked all the worst stuff? Wrench wasn't sure. He hadn’t seen her since the whitecoats wheeled her back and because they had a 'family only' policy, no wanted to let him back there. Or maybe it was because he had to go and cause a scene like usual, which just meant that when visiting hours crept up, no one let him back.

 

The cop was probably hanging around because of the police investigation… but Wrench had a feeling he was serving two purposes: keeping Low and Horatio from leaving and the masked punk from getting in. It wasn't like they were worried about any Sons wanting revenge. DedSec took out most of them... and from what Josh's intel was revealing, there wasn't talk about retaliation anytime soon.  

 

Wrench watched Low shake the remote in one hand before tossing it on the bed, looking annoyed and bored but well treated. As much as Wrench disliked the hospital at this point, it was the best place for her right now. Still would have been nice to not get the boot when he came back to visit her.

 

So what if he’d overreacted in the waiting room?  - So what if he may or may not have, but definitely had, tipped over an EKG machine when they threatened to call the police. His blood was up, and yeah, he probably shouldn’t have kicked that rubber tree over or told the nurses to go get fucked by hippos but what did they expect?!

 

Even after they’d gotten her stable, the white coats wouldn’t let anyone of ‘em back there, not even Sitara despite all the ass kissing she'd employed. Wrench especially got a big old fuck off like he was some leper or a dirty hobo or something equally foul. He didn’t like that, and maybe kicking an orderly in the balls wasn’t super cool either, but the dude had a look about him that was just begging for a nutter.

 

Wrench rubbed the edge of his phone like it was the side of LowRes' cheek and continued to watch her fold her arms and lay back on the bed, frowning. 

 

An alarm rang out near the ER entrance; lights rotating in a yellow glow by the ambulances.

 

Wrench took a clean breath of air before pulling his mask back down over his chin. The wet puppy spit was long forgotten. It was time to boogey.

 

At the ambulance station, a group of EMT’s rushed out the double doors with an empty gurney, talking loudly about some call down by the pier. Wrench watched them hop in one by one and rush off with their sirens on full blast. The dark parking lot was now ever more shaded and the empty. The ambulance hangar gave him perfect access to the service doors - an ideal way to slip in and cuddle the fuck out of his raggamuffin. Maybe a gentle cuddle if he could help it... 

 

“Whaddya say we go rescue mommy from the big bad organ harvesters, huh?” 

 

A little responding yip-yap made sweat bead on his upper lip, but Wrench swallowed his freighted nerves and wiggled a finger over its moist nose. The ugly critter parted its maw and gave Wrench’s finger a lick. 

 

He still wanted to throw it in a dumpster, but for Low… he could handle it. Wrench could endure anything for her. 

 

‘You saved me - you fucker. Holy fuck. Fucking shit! You saved me. You-’

 

Maybe he shouldn't have pulled the mask up and kissed her in the back of the car as he had. Everyone got a good look at his face too, but that didn't cross his mind at the time... and he was more worried that he may have unintentionally hurt her that exposed his face to Ray and Sitara. He just... he'd needed to taste her - to hug her as hard as he could. Low hadn't seemed to mind because Wrench got squeezed and kissed until he couldn't breathe. Still, that fat lip wasn’t any better because of him being impulsive.

 

The puppy started gnawing on Wrench’s nail bed with those tiny needle teefs as the ambulance siren faded down the highway.

 

“I’m in deep, dude. She’s perfect, and this hard manly exterior hides a very vulnerable, sensitive Reginald… so don’t piss me off and I won’t throw you in the Bay. She wants you, and it’s important you learn my rules quick.”

 

It bit his finger and immediately proceeded to lick indent like an apology. Wrench didn't buy that shit for a second.

 

“Okay. Rule numero uno. You bite me. You die.”

 

Apparently, it thought playing dumb was the best course of action and bit him again before drenching Wrench's abused middle finger in more saliva. 

 

Manipulative little shit, Wrench estimated with a glare of mad-slashes, trying to hold in a betraying smile. The thing thought it was SO'ohhh cute. It was, of course, which was the reason Wrench grabbed it, sitting alone as it was on the edge of a puppy pile in the pound. The little monster had seemed pretty grateful for the abduction, and Wrench proceeded to book it before anyone could either kill it or make him sign adoption papers.

 

“Alright.” He conceded to the gnawing and stood up, locking his knees and cracking his neck with a pop, “I’ll let you off with a warning for now, but next time - you’ll go straight to the Korean joint on Seventeenth street.”

 

The beast - the puppy - snuffled its nose and ducked back down inside his vest; whimpering. Instead of chucking it in a medical waste bin, Wrench cupped its butt with a sigh. It sagged inside the studded leather, bouncing as he cradled it across the parking lot to the empty ambulance garage. 

 

One tap on his phone froze the exterior cameras as he passed through their line of sight. Sneaky-sneaky, like a digital ninja.

 

Another tap shut and locked the garage door behind him. He tried the back door handle but was met with a locked door. Wrench glared mad-slashes at the keycard panel as the puppy sniffed the clean air outside his collar. He grumbled and put two fingers over its nose, shoving it back down with a ‘shush’ as he searched the network for the door mechanism.

 

It was a cakewalk after that. 

 

The cameras showed Wrench which empty hallways to take and where to hide when some hospital staff asshat got in his right of way. Down the third-floor corridor, he spotted the whiteboard with her birth name written in a messy script. He paused - the puppy a warm weight against his chest  - and read over the notes they'd left behind. They’d done x-rays, blood work, urine tests and a trauma panel.

 

Wrench felt sick rise up in his throat, but swallowed the puke back down and checked his phone for any staff members before reading the remaining notes. She had a left wrist fracture, mild concussion, blunt facial trauma and something scribbled at the end that he couldn’t understand...

 

Sweat leaked out of his pours thinking about what she must have gone through and how he hadn't been there. Wrench felt the stale rage from earlier come back, panic mixing with the nausea, and just before he fell apart, the puppy began to lap at his throat, bringing him back to reality. 

 

He’d always known she was hardcore… but this was just another blatant reminder of how badass she really was. Under that nerdy, cute exterior laid a road warrior that could give a bashing and take one too. 

 

Wrench doubted he'd ever forget throwing those doors open only to see his adorable acorn cocking a handgun with dried blood on her face and a heel in one of the two bodies on the floor. It was the wrong time and place, as usual, but just recalling the scene was giving him a chub.

 

‘I… holy fuck, I think I killed that chick… Wrench - I killed someone…’

 

In the back of that stolen car while Marcus drove to the ER - Wrench wanted to tell her everything he loved about her. He wanted to admit how hard up he was the second he'd seen her... about how difficult it'd been to keep his fucking mouth shut before the boat incident because he just wanted her so fucking bad but couldn’t convince himself that anyone like her would settle for someone like him. Wrench wanted to hook their brains together just so she could see everything he didn't have the words to express how perfect she was.

 

Wrench wanted to get on his knees and… and…

 

A doctor or someone that looked the part was coming down the hallway.

 

Wrench snapped a picture of the admit-board, held the fleabag to his stomach and darted around a corner. The ’whoever they were’ went into a room a few doors before Wrench’s hiding spot, leaving him to nab the room number from her patient info. 

 

Horatio was right next door to Low, but his info line was thankfully shorter than hers. The dude had facial contusions and a bruised rib. They were both, however, on some particularly strong opiates. Wrench almost felt a little jealous. Almost!

 

He gave the surrounding camera’s a look, saw the cop outside their rooms and did something really old school. He made a prank call.

 

All it took to get Mr. Crew Cut to abandon his post was one fake patch through his ‘closed’ channel, piping in about a ten ninety-four in the parking lot. Cops hated people having fun after all, and in two seconds flat, the hallway was empty. Wrench was home free - as in, good morning honey I’M HOME! - home free. He was so eager to see his girlfriend that both his heart, dick, and fingers were tingling.

  
  
  
  
  


**Six o’clock in room 322, watching soaps…**

 

There’s nothing on TV. As a rule, cable always sucked, and something about hospital TV was way worse than the shit people bought from the cable companies. You thought they’d upped your Dilaudid drip when the channel reset to zero-zero after hitting forty-eight, yet on the second try and third try, it appears that there are literally fifty channels and not a single one has anything better than daytime soap reruns. 

 

You would turn the thing off if it weren’t for the monitors beeping and that clock outside the hallway clicking, clicking and clicking. Always ticking. Not to mention the cop outside the door. You’re not super keen on the idea of him being able to hear you shuffle around in bed. Having the TV on allowed a sound barrier between you and the officer outside and for that, it stays on. 

 

They took your phone along with your clothes and shoes after Wrench turned around for one second and the staff whisked you away, followed swiftly by Horatio.

 

You saw him for a second, crossing paths between X-rays but after that, you weren’t sure where they put him. He seemed alright except for a dent in his nose and a black eye, but he didn’t have any casts on and for some reason they’d let him keep his jeans on. 

 

Lucky bastard, you thought with a smile. For being kidnapped and beaten up, you and Horatio sure did put two brains together and got halfway out of there before the cavalry arrived.

 

It would have been nice to give Wrench another messy kiss before they dragged you back here though. Or ya know… visitors would have been cool too. Instead, you’re being treated like a suspect and while that’s terrifying and all, the painkillers they have you on are hard to think around. Right now, all you can focus on is how lucky you are that your teeth didn’t get knocked out and that the first thing you’re gonna do when they let you have food is eat a fucking burger and a side of onion rings. Wrench can make gross faces all he wants when you mash those sweet n’ salty golden circles in your mouth because it’s so happening. You deserve it. You want it. Fuck, you’re hungry.

 

There’s muffled walkie-talkie chatter outside your door, but even without Gabriella realizing she’s pregnant with twins by one of her husband's brothers, you wouldn’t understand the feedback anyway. He’s been outside since they admitted you, and that radio hasn’t stopped for more than five minutes at a time.

 

Another wave of crushing heat makes you stiffen before the Dilaudid hits your brain and the nausea passes. It’s intense, and you’re not much of a fan of painkillers but they worked, and they worked hard. The little euphoric side effect is not the worst either. Hot, itchy cling wrap surrounds your brain which could be the reason it doesn’t kick in right away when six feet of leather and spikes slips through your door, moving like a living shadow. 

 

Wrench clicks the doors shut soundlessly - the denim and studs and vest patchwork so familiar and welcoming that you grin from ear to ear and sigh like Gabriella did for the pool boy.

 

Wait… you blink, noting the hospital walls and the bleep-bloops of the machinery around you and remember he’s not supposed to be here. The nurse and doctor respectively told you that ‘the masked gentleman’ was escorted from the property along with the rest of your friends. How the hell did he get in?

 

“Wrench?”

 

The literal hero of the day turns around - hands on the hospital door like he’s about to get frisked - and with bright double zeros blinking swiftly into twin hearts, he yanks out his phone and gives it a tap. The door lock slides in, and green turns to red.

 

As if you couldn’t love him anymore, you think; a lump in your throat. He glares up at the camera in the top corner and, with another tap, disables that too. The little light that’s been glaring at you for hours is gone, and a breath of privacy releases the tension the drugs left behind.

 

Wrench drops the hood. His hair is sticking up at odd angles, looking run ragged but hardcore and dashing and all sorts of handsome. If your infatuation and love for Wrench were a solid ten, it’s an eleven and a half now. After today, you don’t think you could love another human being more than you do Wrench.

 

“How-” you gape at him, still stunned, “how’d you get in? - The cop. Did you kill a cop or something?” Of course, he didn’t, but you’re a little loopy and SFPD is probably still tagging and cleaning up the mess DedSec left behind. Plus, the idea of him cartoon-murdering a cop is not something your brain marks as severe right now. Somewhere beyond the fog, you’re horrified by yourself and what all happened today, but right now you think Wrench breaking into the hospital and throat punching an officer of the law is majestic as fuck. 

 

If it weren’t for these wires tubes, you’d be down to see how sturdy this hospital bed really was. That line of thought could have also been the drugs talking though. 

 

“Let’s just say I have my ways,” he muses; sounding like a robot on a dating show and killing it with the undertones. 

 

As happy as you were to see him, Wrench brought a bucket load of fresh memories and about a small armies worth of emotions with him. You swallow, holding back hot tears that are probably gonna come no matter how hard you fight them and scoot over to give him some room. 

 

You’ve done enough crying around Wrench today. You tell yourself that he won’t mind a little bit more.

 

“I uh-“ he stops a foot away; feet braced out shoulder width apart and hugs his middle like- 

 

“Ooh, did you bring snacks? Please tell me you brought food because these painkillers are making me so fucking hungry. I never knew I could be this fucked and hungry and they have fast food commercials every ten minutes.” 

 

It feels like your talking a mile a minute, but Wrench just nods even if his mask is displaying at symbols, so you keep running your mouth like they’re gonna sew it shut in the morning. 

 

“-have you ever noticed how creamy all those sauces are? No. Not until you're faced with basic cable and hospital food and all I had was that donut this morning. Why the fuck won’t they feed me? I hit the emergency button like forty times already.”

 

Wrench sounds like he’s having a verbal brain fart, but you try to refocus as the machine spits out another timed dose of happy juice. Within seconds you can’t remember if the nurse said she’d bring you dinner or not or if you even talked to her before the shifts changed.

 

“Hey,” you point and wiggle your finger at his stomach, and the care package nestled within, “feed me, and I’ll blow you.”

 

“It’s… I ummmmmmmm… wait’what?” Hearts blink for a solid second before double question marks stare down at you in silence.

 

The TV cuts to a noisy commercial, but you’ve forgotten about food and decide that fucking sounds way better. All the chemicals the painkillers are forcing your brain to release would go great with Wrench’s hard cock. As soon as you imagine getting pounded by Wrench with your hospital gown hiked up and his hands jerking your ass back and forth - teeth in lips to hold back the moans - you trade one hunger for another.

 

“Yes, actually - no,” you say and then add, “Yes. We should just take this IV out and go to town because-or maybe you can just lift this up and crawl underneath. Hold on, I got this… lemme just...”

 

You try and work the hospital gown from around your knees, but the IV stand rattles across the floor, moving with the uncoordinated movement of your arm. The machine beeps as a heart monitor thing snaps off your side and before you know it, Wrench is pulling your wrists away from the baggy fabric half hanging off your shoulders, trying to wrestle you into stillness.

 

“Yeah, just pin me down right here,” you moan, trying to get your legs around his waist just before his vest starts moving. A little snuffling sound like an animal puffs out of his collar. Next is a waft of puppy breath and a wet glistening nose that catches the glaring hospital lights and just like that the not-sexy floodgates open. 

 

You choke wetly, feel your sinuses clog up and start crying as the puppy noses half its face out of Wrench’s collar like a slow, furry explosion.

 

“Oh’my’god!”

 

“Shushhhh’shut your mouth,” Wrench hisses, bracing a hand on your shoulder and another on the bed, leaning so close you can smell smoke and the oils in his hair. You’re stuck between wanting to get royally fucked and cuddling the puppy, and it’s a whirlwind that makes you giggle and smile and forget about being quiet.

 

There’s a fucking puppy! - hanging halfway out of Wrench’s vest! - And you don’t care that another two heart thingys come undone as you jerk at his leather, fumbling the snap buttons because an actual living, breathing dog flops into your lap like some adorable chestburster. More tears slip down your cheeks, stinging the edge of your mouth.

 

A month ago you couldn’t get him to even say the ‘D’ word and fuck… just this morning he was adamant about kicking every dog he saw from the HQ to the Valley. This, right here, is amazing!

 

“Wrench… you got me a puppy,” you whisper and sniffle; lower lip trembling as you smile around the super glued cut stretching your lower lip. Everything feels a billion and a half times more intense than it usually would, and your emotions are a hundred times more sensitive than that. Even your elation is overstimulating thanks to the narcotics, but truthfully, this is one of those things that would have thrown you off balance either way. Wrench was the kind of guy that threatened to murder animals, not smuggle them through policed hospitals to bring them around to show and tell.

 

The puppy beats its tail in your lap and hops up, licking snot away from your nose as if it's syrup. It hooks a couple teeth in your lip in its excitement, but the drugs keep that from hurting and honestly, it could take a chunk of skin with it and you wouldn’t have a single care but to gush all the more.

 

Hovering beside the bed, Wrench cracks his knuckles into a fist and lays them on your spread knees, glaring mad-slashes at the dog and mumbling something about ‘the rules.’

 

“What the fuck were you thinking, Wrench? Holy shit… this is - you’re insane.”

 

“Insane in the membrane or insanely awesome??”

 

“Fuck-awesome,” you reassure him with a watery smile as the puppy bathes your chin in spit, cleaning the dribbles of tears that try to slide down your neck. You’ve never had a dog before… never had a pet you could call your own and this is beyond words. Even sober, you wouldn’t know what to say.

 

Wrench, your beautiful manstick, is blinking between exclamation marks, hearts, and mad-slashes that he aims down at the ball of fur in your arms. His hands smooth down over your thighs, fingers shaking just shy of your hips before he moves to pull at the loose monitor hooks around you.

 

A dopey laugh falls out your mouth as he tries to shush you and the dog and hook you back up to the machine. Who would have thought The Wrench would be the responsible one and yet here you are, playing with a bouncy puppy as he tries to figure out where the things snap back in. 

 

Another big wet lick up your nose makes you squeal with glee.

 

“Oi!” Wrench reaches up and pinches the edge of your lips closed, avoiding the puffy region with the super glue. He glares those slashes down at you but it only makes your heart race even faster. There’s something incredibly attractive about Wrench when he goes into mom mode - the vicious protectiveness he exudes is flattering. Of course, the whole saving you from Sons of Ragnarok members was telling enough.

 

“Puppy,” he says in hushed robotix, “or roadkill. Your move.”

 

Between his pinching fingers and the reek of gasoline, you smirk and nod in understanding. Okay, you’ll stop being dumb and keep quiet and hug this dog until it and you are nothing but fossils. 

 

Wrench sighs dramatically and picks up a blue colored snappy thing, reattaches it below your collarbone and plops down on the bed beside you. He looks tired when the mask finally comes off, sweeping his bangs over his forehead where a worry line furrows his brows. His blue eyes are rimmed with red and glassy. The sudden realization that he’s been crying before breaking into the hospital provides a heavy dose of reality. Today has been a hell of a roller coaster ride for both you and Horatio, but there was something equally, if not worse about the ones you loved being hurt or dead or just the not know either way. 

 

You don’t envy Wrench, even with a broken wrist and stitches and all the dizzying fear you’ve sustained, imagining being in his place and not knowing if he was alive or not sounds worse. Just thinking about him in your situation makes the euphoria from the drugs dampen under some resurfacing anxiety.  

 

“Thank you,” you mutter softly as Wrench stares at you like you’ll disappear if he breathes wrong.

 

“...hey,” he ushers, holding your hand in two of his own; calluses catching on your scuffed palms, “Josh has video of you beating the living shit outta two fuckwads twice your size. Credit where credit is due, you bamf.”

 

You lick your lips, tasting salty tears and a little hint of blood from your superglued lower lip but can’t help yourself and lean in to kiss him. The contact is unflattering and your mouth is probably gross but just a quick kiss is better than nothing because you're on the fast track to getting lost in the past again. Wrench’s lips seem the best beacon towards something a little less depressing.

 

He inhales as you lean in harder and wraps his hands around your shoulder and neck, dipping you back just an inch more so he can deepen it until your lips are flush and hot. Wrench exhales down the side of your face and melts like it’s your very first kiss back in the HQ on the couch before you didn't even know what his face looked like. Your heart literally skips a beat just thinking about it - about all the times you’ve kissed him and laughed and fucked around. The memories come flooding in over the past seven hours and you grin against his lips, fisting the warm hoodie under his vest like an anchor. 

 

Even the slobbering licks from the puppy can’t break up the moment. 

 

His thumb brushes past your rosy cheek, hooking behind your ear and pulls back a centimeter only to place another open mouth kiss over your lips with a careful tug forward. Wrench tastes like cigarettes, the fucker… but that doesn’t bother you right now. Everything, even the twinge of pain when you smack your lips and moan into another wet kiss, feels like bliss. 

 

“Low…” he moans, breaking the heated contact with a lick of his lips just outside your reach. You blink blearily, drunk with emotion at the sight of your blood staining his lower lip, and watch his cheeks grow pink. 

 

“When you weren’t answering your phone, I thought…” his anarchy tattoo bounces under a hard swallow but you sit back and wait, smoothing back the puppy’s ears as Wrench finds the words he’s trying to get out. Another timed dose of Dilaudid has made you a little hazy anyway.

 

“I thought you might have been fucking Horatio-”

 

You frown, biting your tongue.

 

“-and it’s stupid I know and you’re not like that and-fuck… it’s so shitty of me but... I just couldn’t get it out of my head and then once I realized something wasn’t right I...“ he takes a large breath and looks everywhere but at you and the sad look on your face.

 

“I’m sorry for being a fuckstick is what I’m getting at and-and did any of those cum stains touch-“

 

“Wrench,” you whisper, cutting him off. 

 

You shake your head and pull at his face with your right hand, tugging him close until the wet sheen of unshed tears is plain as day. Whatever the reasons for his insecurities, you can’t change them but it’s important to you that Wrench knows how you feel. Plus, he seems to think you were sexually assaulted by the sound of it which needs to be shut down as soon as fucking possible. 

 

“What you see is what you get, alright? Nothing else happened. I promise.”

 

Wrench nods and the tears fall into his lower lashes, nearly spilling over. 

 

With a smile, you kiss him again, softer this time and dab at the little dimple of blood you leave behind before telling him firmly, “I’m alive. You’re alive. I love you and there’s no one else in the world I’d fuck, or kiss or spend my days and nights with doing weird ass shit or… nothing at all.”

 

He ducks his head a second too late to hide the tears that start falling down his cheeks, but if anything it just makes you love him even more. 

 

With a gentle tug, you pull him down to the bed where he hitches a sob and curls into you; one arm wrapped around your back and the sleepy puppy that’s nosing your breasts lazily. His fingers spread and press into your spine as his other hand wiggles between you both; thumb rubbing your chin with soft swipes. He sniffles grossly, making your cheeks grow hot, and your chest tighten as he pulls you in closer. 

 

For several minutes Wrench hugs you somewhere between too hard and not hard enough, heaving breaths over your forehead. Tremors shake him, but you stroke the skin above his hoodie collar and ‘shush’ him sweetly, listening to him expunge all that pent-up emotion as the drugs work to put you to sleep.

 

“Don’t ever leave me,” he mutters through a thick throat; sounding like he’s been swallowing glass all evening. If it’s a demand or threat or a plea, you don’t care. You’re not going anywhere. 

 

“Mm’mm, never,” you sigh, snuggling closer, “just don’t leave me either, mm’kay? You rescued me today and if I need rescuing again… you gotta promise to be there.”

 

“Promise,” he breathes, planting a kiss on your forehead; leaving his lips there to hover. 

 

“Are we keeping it?” You ask quietly; fingering a floppy ear on the puppy that’s passed out between the two of you. 

 

“Hmm?”

 

You chuckle throatily, rubbing your half-dried tears off onto the pillow below your head until he removes his own with the back of his hand, sniffing up the barrage of snot. You lean in and kiss his chin, stuffing your face back down into his neck with another nosy kiss to his anarchy tattoo. 

 

“I mean the puppy, you moron. This is a permanent present right?”

 

“Eh,” he shrugs a shoulder and drapes his arm back around your side, giving your butt a soft pinch before reaching up to twirl your hair around his fingers, “I gave it the rundown on house rules. If it crosses me, we’re donating it to the Korean joint that has the busted welcome signage. I refuse to cater to the enemy.”

 

“Over my dead body,” you threaten contentedly, stifling a yawn against his throat. Finally, your body is reaching peak exhaustion and Wrench is here with you so maybe… just maybe you can get some sleep. 

 

“Ugh,” he groans, pushing his nose into your scalp hard and sighs, “don’t even joke about that. It’s too soon.”

 

“Heeey, guess what?” You mumble on his adam's apple, smiling when he swallows thickly against your lips.

 

“W'what?”

 

“... I’m soooo high right now.”

 

Wrench snorts and you giggle and the ‘yet-to-be-named’ puppy huffs in its sleep and even though today was the worst day of your life, you nuzzle closer and decide that it ended pretty good considering. Plus, even if the cops try to pin something on you and Horatio, DedSec will wipe your records and after that, it’ll just be your own healing to contend with.

 

Everything is going to okay, you repeat to yourself as you lean in and kiss Wrench’s throat once more before closing your eyes and letting sleep take you over. 

**Author's Note:**

> As always, thanks Anon for the request and I hope I delivered something enjoyable. Let me know what you thought in the comments below if you have the time. Your feedback is how I grow as a writer. <3
> 
> Also, thank you to Darth Fucamus for looking this over for me. I greatly appreciate it!
> 
>  
> 
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